The Game of Consent
by Raibean
Summary: Rated M for smut. Domme!Santana and Sub!Rachel.
1. Chapter 1

The Game of Consent

Santana Lopez does bad, bad things to Rachel Berry. Santana reminds her every week when she makes the soprano beg the Latina to do it. Rachel can't explain it to herself, and she hates that. Santana and everything to do with the girl doesn't fit into the boxes Rachel sorted her life into. Some weeks, she dreads going; sometimes, it's all that carries her through everything else. She never skips a week, and she never regrets it afterwards. Santana does, or at least she says she does. She crosses her arms and tells Rachel so in a cold voice, saying it's all Rachel's fault. Rachel doesn't know what, exactly is her fault, and sometimes it keeps her up at night, but when Santana tells her that, she just begs and begs for a chance to make it up to her. That's what Santana's after, and she knows it.

This week, Rachel is sitting cross-legged on Santana's bed, hands in her lap. Her lip trembles as Santana gracefully walks two fingers up her shoulder and to her mouth. She presses gently on Rachel's bottom lip, and Rachel parts her teeth a little, just enough to taste Santana's fingers. Santana pries Rachel's mouth open as far as it will go with a bemused expression on her face. She gives up her purchase as she slides her fingers over Rachel's tongue, almost far back enough to make Rachel gag. She can't gag, though; Santana will laugh.

Santana leans forward until the tips of their noses are touching, her right hand still blocking their mouths. Rachel's breathing through her mouth (she's been singing for so long that she's practically forgotten how to breathe through her nose), and the sound of her own excitement is hot enough, but compared with those harsh eyes? Those eyes she wants to please so much? Rachel doesn't stand any more of a chance than she did last week or the week before that.

Santana keeps her eyes trained on Rachel's as she unbuttons Rachel's blouse and unzips Rachel's skirt. Rachel knows the rules: She's supposed to take them off herself. It's a part of their dance, the one where she shows consent to these atrocities.

_If this was happening to someone else, and a boy was doing what Santana is, I'd call it abusive,_ she thought, _but it can't be abuse if you actually want it, right?_ Rachel slid her tongue between Santana's fingers, stretching it up as far as she could. She wanted to gag again, but she wanted to impress Santana more. Santana jammed her hand farther into Rachel's mouth, and she did gag this time. Santana didn't laugh, which was almost worse because she pushed Rachel onto the bed and taunted her.

"You're lucky you're with me, Berry. That shit wouldn't fly if you were with one of the guys." Rachel whimpered to hear Santana's raspy voice against her neck. This was the closest they ever got to pillow talk. "We should do something different today."

Rachel hugs her knees while Santana pulls something up on her laptop. She rolls her tongue around in her mouth, trying to recapture the taste of Santana's fingers. She doesn't know the words to describe it, but Santana's whole body tastes like different flavors of _naughty_. She knows; she's tried just about everywhere.

Rachel squeaks in horror when the porno turns on. She hears Santana's throaty chuckle in her ear as the ex-cheerleader situates herself behind the soloist.

"Do you want to do something else?" she asks.

"Yes, yes, please -" she knows she made a mistake; she's only supposed to talk when Santana actually tells her to.

"Just a few minutes. If you really don't like it we'll try something else."

Rachel isn't sure if she's lying; Santana loves to make Rachel uncomfortable. It's part of the game. She makes Rachel keep watching, and Santana runs her fingertips over Rachel's legs, teasing her before running them along her bikini line. Santana rests her head on Rachel's shoulder, eyes on the computer screen, when she tucks her fingers under the edge of Rachel's panties. Rachel's legs tense, and she bites her lips. How can Santana be so gentle when the woman's words were made of steel?

"Do you like what he's doing to her?" she asks. "It feels like you like it. Do you want me to find someone to do that to you? I could, you know. It wouldn't take much convincing, even if it is you." Those poisoned compliments haunt Rachel's dreams sometimes. She's used to criticism, but she isn't used to craving it like hydrogen peroxide on a scraped knee.

Rachel gasps when Santana finally touches her clit. The man in the video is pounding into some blonde, and Santana won't let her look away. She feels like she's intruding on them; she feels embarrassed; she feels guilty that she's so turned on right now, and she wants to tell people that it isn't the video, it's just Santana.

"_God_, Rachel, everyone thinks you're such a fucking prude, don't they?" She sounds like a cat that's caught a canary. "I know the truth, though. I know how big of a slut you are. I know how much you want it."

Rachel bites back her words. She used to deny it, but then Santana would deny _her_. It's part of the game of consent. Santana needs more than consent; she needs affirmation. She would wrench it from Rachel's dead voice if she had to.

"Tell me you want it, Berry." Rachel whimpers. It takes her a bit to summon the words, but if she takes too long, Santana would stop, and she just can't have that.

"I-I want -" she gulps "- sex."

"What kind of sex?" Santana tugs down on Rachel's earlobe with her teeth.

"_Adonai_ – rough sex. Rough, unattached sex w-without any meaning." She scrunches her eyes up as if that could erase the words.

"In short, you want me, don't you?"

"Yes." Her back arches up against Santana as the girl pushes her fingers inside Rachel.

She remembers the first time this happened, how she came over to Santana's in a fit of rage ready to prove herself _good enough_, to prove that she was worth Santana's time. All she wanted was to stop being insulted, maybe some grudging respect. She didn't get it.

"You want my approval, Berry?" she said with a glare. "Get down on your knees."

She didn't have time to be confused before Santana kissed her. That was a sort of acceptance, right? That she was good enough? So she thought until the insults continued. But it felt so damn good to listen to them, to hear that mixture of anger and lust in Santana's voice. Santana knelt over her and gave her instructions on _everything_, sneering and cussing when she messed up, and she tried and tried again, but when it was over, all Santana gave her was a huff and a roll of her eyes. She wanted more; she _needed_ more, so she came back again. She couldn't even get the words out when Santana demanded to know what Rachel Berry was doing on her doorstep at three in the morning on a Thursday. When she couldn't, that wicked, familiar smile crept onto the cheerleader's face for the first time.

"You _like_ it. Rachel Berry, the girl who dresses like a Catholic toddler, is a filthy whore at heart." Rachel tried to correct her, but Santana told her that if she wanted to stay, she had to put her mouth to better use than talking. So Rachel obeyed, and she hadn't stopped since.

"Rachel," the present Santana says, "do you want me to find you a boy? I could, you know. I could tell him all about you -" a moan catches in Rachel's throat "- which spots to hit, what things to say." Rachel doesn't think she'd be able to stand it if someone else said those horrible things. Santana's always been mean to her, but if someone else says it... well, then, it's that much more real, isn't it? "Or maybe you wouldn't want him to touch you. That's okay. He could watch. He could listen to just how depraved you are. I'd make you watch him jerk himself off while I touch you. I'd make sure you'd come right when he does."

Rachel shakes her head.

"No? Another girl, then? Or maybe you do want a guy, and you want to watch him fuck me. Is that it, Rachel? Is that what you want?"

"N-no..."

"Are you sure? You're so fucking close, Rachel, I can practically taste it. You like being treated like a piece of fucking trash, don't you?"

"N-no. I deserve better."

"You deserve what I give you. You _want_ what I give you."

That's when she comes. Everything is bright for a second, and she gets to wallow in hormones, but then Santana snaps her laptop closed and rolls Rachel over.

"You're not done."

Rachel ends up unzipping Santana's jeans with her teeth. She licks up the center of the athlete's underwear before she pulls that off with her teeth, too. She feels Santana shiver, and the air is tense. She has a chance this week, she knows it. She can get a real compliment if she just tries. She's caught between focusing on her mouth and watching Santana's reactions. She relishes the feeling of Santana's fingers digging into her scalp, the breathless gasps, the hip thrusts that she only just gets under control. When it's all over, all she gets is a pointed "Mediocre."

"M-mediocre?"

"Your best so far. One day, you might actually be worth the time I'm spending on you."

"I can do better, San, just give me another chance -"

"Your chance is next Wednesday."

"Wednesday? But today's Monday." She's been hoping for Sunday because that means their next one would be Saturday, and she would finally have two in one week.

"I have a life." Implying that Rachel didn't.

"I _know_ I can do better, Santana -"

"You wanna do better? Do your homework." She doesn't look up from her nails as she scrubbed nail polish remover on them.

"What?"

"Touch yourself. Watch porn. Look up FAQs for fucking women. Whatever it takes. I've seen you run after something you want, and you come here every week like I'm some Holy Grail of sexual knowledge. I am, but there's only so much I can convey. If you really want something, you need to get it." She finally looks up at Rachel. "What do you want?"

"I want to give you the best orgasm you've ever had."

"You've got a long way to go, Man-hands."


	2. Chapter 2

The Game of Consent

At first, Santana didn't know why Rachel kept coming back. Why would Rachel Berry, the girl who wanted to shine brighter than the rest, submit to constant humiliation and a perversion of the intimacy she wasn't ready for? Then Santana realized that she practically did the same thing for Cheerios. Once she knew that Rachel would keep coming back, she trusted herself enough to add in some pain. Rachel took it willingly; Santana made her beg for it. It felt so good to see the loudest trouble in her life squirming under her legs.

When it comes to Rachel, Santana has a few rules she keeps for herself:

If Rachel gets a compliment, she has to receive an insult.

Rachel cannot know that Santana is a lesbian.

Rachel cannot know that she's the only girl Santana's slept with.

Rachel's needs do not get put before Santana's. If Rachel's needs are taken care of, it is because Santana wants it that way.

Santana has to switch it up. Familiar routines are limited to once a month, if that. This is her favorite rule, the one that keeps her up at night, researching. What would Berry think of restraints? Gags? This toy? That position? She has a loose-leaf binder of ideas. There are even some doodles and snippets of songs that Santana sings to herself in the shower.

The last rule is that Rachel cannot find the binder.

Sometimes, Santana thinks she should add another rule: Rachel cannot find out about Brittany. If Santana reveals that she doesn't do this with Brittany, that she treats Brittany like gold, that she's in love with Brittany... it might be too much. Rachel might not come back. On the other hand, it might make her want Santana more – that's why Man-Hands was chasing after Finn so hard, right? Because he picked Quinn over her... again. She isn't sure, though, so she doesn't flaunt Brittany over Rachel's head. She doesn't mention Brittany much at all, and it's not like Rachel's allowed to bring her up.

When Rachel comes over on Wednesday, Santana orders her to strip and stand in the center of the room. She watches Rachel slip off her cardigan and drop her skirt. She's shaking when she rolls off her socks. This is a new humiliation. People are always worried about how they look naked, but Santana's found that people rarely pay attention to that when you are. This is different.

Santana wonders if she should get the ruler that's on her desk. She could easily bruise Berry's skin with it. She decides against it, though, because she's always loved using her hands. There's something dirtier about using a toy or a tool instead, but in this case, it will probably torment Rachel that Santana's touching her like this.

She doesn't sound tormented, though. She looks like it, but those whimpers? She's practically begging Santana to let her speak. Begging her to let her beg. Santana cocks a smile at that. She watches the girl's muscles shiver under her skin, waiting for Santana to pass judgment on her body. It will be horrible; she's already self-conscience about her looks, and Santana would end up insulting _something_. She can't, though. There's a delicate balance between consent and abuse, and Santana doesn't know how much of this is real for Rachel. She isn't sure how much of this is real for herself. Does she mean the things she says? Does Rachel feel like she means it?

"Your body is a temple, isn't it, Berry? Isn't that what God taught you?" Rachel nods. "I bet that's what your dads taught you. I bet they taught you self-worth, didn't they?" She nods again, but slower this time. "And you're treating it like it's fucking trash." She looks stricken. She had to know it was coming, so how does she look like that every fucking time? It's almost infuriating. It's mostly sexy. "Get down on your fucking knees, Berry." Rachel's going to have rug burn on them. Maybe she'll get it on her calves, too. Santana wants to see Rachel wearing knee high socks from here until next Friday. Santana thrusts her hand onto Rachel's scalp to grab a fistful of hair. Rachel whimpers, and Santana yanks her head back before bending over. "If you treat yourself like trash, what makes you better than trash, Berry?"

"I am not trash."

"You think you're better?" It wasn't quite scripted, but Rachel knew when to speak, when to be defiant. Shit, Santana loved that. The rebellious parts were her favorite.

"I know I'm better."

"You think you can prove that?" She couldn't, but Santana wouldn't call her trash again, at least not for a few months.

Santana loves getting eaten out by Rachel. She hoped to orgasm the first time, but she knew it was unlikely. It was probably better that way. It took them both a few months before they could make the other orgasm. Santana could do it on her own, but it was different when you threw another person into the equation. She'd interrogated Rachel about her own history in the throes of pain and lust, but who knew if that were true? Santana can't even remember half the shit she said to Rachel. She had insults scheduled, though. She can't use any of them too close together or even ones that meant the same thing. Rachel would start to think she meant it.

Santana can't stand it sometimes, all these rules and insults and horrible, horrible things and how they make her feel. Sometimes she wakes up, and she isn't sure if she just had a nightmare or a sex dream. Sometimes they give her ideas, and she has to write it down so she can research it later. Research takes hours because it involves checking safety FAQs, looking at medical complications, reading personal accounts, and watching porn. It has to be the best way to masturbate because it makes her feel smart. She could be a librarian or a secret agent. Very rarely is she just Santana. It's not that unusual; even Rachel makes her feel like a queen. One that probably beheaded her husband and has a basement full of mutilated, sexually sated servants.

She's pleased to find out that Rachel gets rug burn on her knees, calves, thighs, and ass.

_You sure you don't have it on your mouth, too? _she texts back. That gives her an idea.

Rachel's ankles are tied up, and she has handcuffs with a chain holding her to Santana's bed. She visibly cringes when Santana pulls out the digital camera.

"No, San, please don't -"

"Why not?" Santana places a hand on those sinful lips, the ones she's come to love, and draws it down Rachel's body. "Don't you want me to think about you when you're away?"

She's forgotten an insult. Damn. It doesn't matter too much, right? Not since she'll be humiliating her in a second. Rachel doesn't know what to say for a second, but she nods.

"Just not my face. Please?"

She looks almost heart-broken.

"Like anyone's going to dig for your nudes."

Santana spreads Rachel's legs and gets to work.

One full-body. Rachel squirms until Santana slaps her ass with a ruler. It might have hurt a little too much, but Santana hopes that it'll bruise so she can tease the spot later.

One spread, untouched. Santana can feel the tension in Rachel's skin as she pushes her fingers over her folds. "Are you ready for your close-up Ms. Berry?"

One hand right where it's supposed to be. She just can't resist fingering Rachel, watching the pleasure roll up through her body towards her mouth where Rachel won't let it come out. One of these days, Santana won't be able to take it; she'll push the girl until she screamed. Today is not that day, and she doesn't let Rachel come.

One ass, up in the air. Rachel's face is buried into Santana's pillow. Silly girl, like that makes it all go away. Like that means you want it to go away. She lays a soft kiss to one cheek (yeah, for a second, she's actually kissing Rachel Berry's ass) before taking the picture. She got another idea, but this one will have to wait.

Santana's twisting one of Rachel's nipples between her teeth when Rachel breaks a rule and talks.

"You won't share those with anyone, right?"

"Who'd want to see them?" She has the sudden urge to bruise her right there. Can you give someone a hickey on their nipple? They seem too stretchy for that.

"I mean it, Santana! Please?"

"I wouldn't. You're mine." Then she kisses Rachel. For a second, she loses herself: She rests on top of Rachel, no pain or insult involved, just a kiss. She doesn't even bite her lip. She loves the look on Rachel's face when she pulls back because it's that happy, twitter-patted face. Like all good things in her life, Santana has to ruin it. "We wouldn't want anyone else to see what sort of filth you're up to, now, would we?"


	3. Chapter 3

The Game of Consent

One day, Rachel breaks down. She begs and begs and begs until Santana rolls her eyes and grants her a favor: She can stay over afterwards. Rachel wiggles under the covers, naked, and wraps her arms around Santana. Santana does not look pleased.

"Why do I like it, Santana? And don't feed me that bullshit about being a secret deviant or something."

"You _are_ a secret deviant; you're just asking why." Still, Santana considers the question. "I think it gives you a release, doing what you're told. This is the one place where you aren't running the show. It's the one place where you're not expected to be the best."

Rachel frowns. It doesn't sound right to her.

"So," Santana begins, "I haven't popped your cherry or anything. Do you consider yourself a virgin?"

"No," Rachel says quietly.

"And you would tell that to guys?"

"It's none of their business to ask!"

"I could break your hymen for you." Santana leans forward to bite her neck softly. "I could buy toys just for us to use. I can think of so many bad things to do to you, Rachel." Rachel shivers, and Santana traces her fingers down the curve of her back just to squeeze her ass.

She makes Rachel sit on her lap, naked, searching the internet for vibrators and dildos and strap-ons. Rachel squirms as Santana picks out riding crops and spanking paddles. She gasps when Santana clicks on a link for anal sex toys.

"Don't worry. I'll make you like it." She runs her tongue over the curve of Rachel's ear. The scary part is Rachel knows she's right. "What, Rachel? You don't want a toy? Alright. Let's get a man. I'll bring him in here and tell him just how to fuck you. I'll make you kneel, and then I'll sit behind you telling you how to suck his cock. Won't that be fun?" Rachel whimpers. "How about Puck? He knows how to treat a lady. He likes you well enough. He's always calling you his hot little Jewish American princess, isn't he? I've heard him. He doesn't know just how hot you are, though; he hasn't heard you beg to be fucked like a little fucking princess, has he?"

"S-Santana -"

"I could call him, just say 'Hey, Puck, are you up for a three-way between your princess and one hot piece of female ass?' and he'd be over here in three minutes. Do you want that? I bet he wants that."

Rachel gasps. "I -"

"I bet you do want that. You just can't get enough, can you?" Her hands are all over Rachel, and Rachel can hear her breathing; she's turned on. Right then, it's the best sound in the world.

"No."

Then Santana breaks a rule: She gives Rachel a huge hickey right on the crook of her neck. Everyone will be able to see it. When Rachel goes home, she cries because she can't seem to cover it up with make-up. At least Google is her friend. She puts on a scarf and heads out to the Halloween store because it's the only place she's going to get make-up this time of night. Green-tinted concealer, it turns out, is made to cover redness. What she buys is cheap, and she swears to order high-quality stuff over the internet.

Just in case, she wears a scarf to school. It isn't too conspicuous since snow before Halloween is fairly common. It's already getting cold.

"Please don't do that again, Santana," she begs next week.

"You don't want me to bruise you?"

"N-not where everyone can see." Santana bends Rachel over her bed.

"Are you ashamed?"

"Yes."

She felt cold metal on her back. "This won't bruise you, Berry."

"I-is that a knife?"

"Yes."

"No, Santana, don't -" She tried to remember the word. "Red."

Santana put the knife down and let Rachel go. They used a system: red means stop; green means go; yellow is "be careful." This is the first time Rachel has ever stopped Santana.

"Are you okay?" Santana asks.

"Yeah." Rachel doesn't look at her, though. She's relieved because, until this moment, she wasn't sure that Santana would stop if Rachel actually asked.

"Do you want a break?"

Rachel nods. Santana tosses her the clothes she left on the floor, but she doesn't move to dress herself. She parades around the room nude like it's nothing. It probably is nothing to her; it's _her_ room, and _she's_ not the one who goes around acting like a prude and then being such a slut in private. Sluts are the ones who'll let just about anything get done to them, right?

Rachel lets her eyes wander all over Santana's brown skin. How does she always look so good? Rachel wishes she could be that hot. She knows people think she's about as annoying as Santana can be, but people like Santana better, even the girls. It's because she's pretty or because she doesn't work so hard for the spotlight in every damn thing, but if Rachel doesn't work for it, she won't get it. She needs that fucking spotlight; she needs to be the best in _something_, and she needs people to know it.

"Do you really want to bring someone else into this, Santana, or are you just saying that?"

"Eventually, I was hoping for it, yes." She examines her nails. "I don't want to leave any part of you untouched. I want to be your first everything, Rachel, and if I can't do it myself, I'll make my presence as known as possible."

"What does it feel like? Having sex with a guy."

"Depends on his style, I guess. And the guy. Basics, though? Not too different from being fingered, but that could just be me." She shrugs. "Toys do a pretty good job of imitating it, especially if there's a condom on it."

"The first time hurts, right?"

"Yeah. It shouldn't hurt too much if you're into it – unless you have a condition or something." She looks over at Rachel. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm not ready."

A few weeks later, Santana holds a pink jelly dildo in her hands.

"This," she announces, "is just for you. If you're really good or if I just feel like it, I'm going to unleash it on you along with my knowledge of what I can do with it and what I can do with you." She pulls a packet out of her purse. "This is how you put on a condom. There are a few rules about these things: don't use oil-based lube; leave room at the top; if you accidentally start rolling it on inside out, use a new one; and put it on when he's hard."

"You're not going to name that, are you?" Rachel asks.

"Did I tell you to speak to me?"

Rachel shakes her head.

"That's what I thought." She leaves bite marks everywhere – one Rachel's left breast, on her wrist, on her thigh, on her stomach, on her collarbone. She even east Rachel out aggressively, clawing her hands into Rachel's skin, holding her down.

"Oh, God, Santana -" She cuts herself off; she can't scream in here!

Then Santana picks up the dildo. Rachel watches her lube it up and push it into her. Rachel shudders and whimpers because God damn it, it _hurts_.

"Don't worry, Berry; I'll be gentle the whole time." She's lying, but by the time Rachel finds that out, she doesn't care.

Rachel doesn't know why she has PE; she should have exempted it already, but the truth is, she put it off. Ohio state only requires a semester of PE, so Rachel put it off again and again. Now she has to take it her Senior year. Of course someone has to notice the bruises and jump to the wrong conclusion.

She turns around to see Quinn Fabray actively staring at her. For a second, she mistakes it for the stare Santana sometimes gives her during school, the ones that remind her of her place. Then she realizes that Quinn's looking at the yellow marks on her skin. They've healed just enough that they don't look like bite marks, not that Rachel would want Quinn to know her personal business.

"Looks like someone really did you a number."

"Um, yeah, I guess so." _Please go away._

"Who'd you fight?"

"Someone." Shit, she should've said Santana. That was totally plausible.

"Was it a friend or a boyfriend or…?"

"It was nothing, Quinn."

"Okay, then! Just trying to make conversation."

By the end of the school day, Puck is asking her if she has a secret boyfriend and if he treats her right. _I hate high school_, she tells herself. Finn texts her a similar message later, and Kurt even calls her up to ask about it. Mercedes messages her on Facebook, but she doesn't say anything about bruises, just a boyfriend. This is humiliation enough. What if they all knew about her and Santana? About all the unattached sex? About the pain – or worse, the begging? She can't let Santana bring a guy into this; none of them can keep their mouths shut.

Her cellphone rings.

"Hello?"

"So Brittany is telling me you have an abusive boyfriend. Should I be concerned?" It's Santana, and she sounds venomous.

"I'm taking care of it."

"It doesn't sound like you're taking care of it. In fact, it sounds like you're purposely spreading it. Two of those bruises are from a fight with me, and the others are from falling in the shower onto a few beauty product bottles, got it?"

"Right."

"Go get talking – and sound convincing. I shouldn't have to pick up after you," the Latina sneers.

Rachel messages Mercedes back (going out of her way to address the rumors), then texts Kurt. Hopefully it would get around. Santana probably told Brittany her part of the "truth," and Brittany could gossip with the best of them. Now she had to pray that they all believed it and that Santana wouldn't be too angry with her about this


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: is having trouble uploading my documents, so I've been e-mailing them to my sister so she can upload them. Hopefully, this problem will be fixed soon, but until then there might be delays between uploads.**

The Game of Consent

Santana feels amazingly lucky that her counter-rumors worked, but it's given her trouble all week. There were two jokes about Santana being Rachel's secret boyfriend, four about Rachel falling and breaking her talent, and endless insulting glares with murmurs of "bitch." It winds her up so tightly that by the time Rachel shows up at her house (early), she's livid.

"I'm sorry, San; I'm so sorry."

Santana slaps her anyways. It's not a hard slap, but Rachel still cups her cheek. Santana grabs her shoulders and pulls her in.

"You're not sorry," she hisses. "I bet you like the attention. You fucking love attention, don't you?"

"N-not about this, San, I swear!"

"Oh, that's right. You don't want anyone else to know what a little freak you can be."

"I'm sorry, San."

"Who was the one who noticed? Who saw?" Santana's undressing Rachel with such speed and precision that it almost burns her fingers.

"Quinn..."

"Oh, so you've been whoring it up with her, now, hm?"

"No!"

"Yeah, right. I know you're jealous of her, Rachel. I know she gets mad – you want her to do this to you?" Santana points to the bed, and Rachel obeys, kneeling on the blanket.

"No, I don't."

"Bullshit."

"I mean it."

Santana takes ahold of Rachel's jaw and lifts it up so Rachel can't look away. "Enough lying."

"Please believe me." There's just one tear, but it's enough to let Santana know that she's taken the game a bit too far. It tells her that Rachel is too emotionally invested in this – but that's what Santana hoped for, right? In those fantasies she played with on lazy Sundays, the ones where _someone_ was crazy enough to fall in love with her, some girl. Too bad it couldn't be Brittany. Too bad it couldn't be a normal relationship instead of this fucked up game of cat and mouse. Too bad it couldn't be someone she was in love with. This is almost as bad as being alone, except the sex is better.

"How are you going to make it up to me?" Her voice is softer but still cold.

"I'll do anything -"

"I already know that." Santana presses down on Rachel's shoulder, pushing her back until she falls softly onto the bed. "Let's do something we haven't done before. We could try erotic asphyxiation."

"You want to strangle me?"

"Mm... Maybe. We could do other things. I know how much you care about your vocal cords." Santana shimmied out of her pants and shirt. "I could take a video of you."

"San..."

"Is there something _you_ want to do?"

"I was thinking... You know the – the _toy_ you bought for me? Does it have a, um, a harness?" She blushed, and Santana licked her lips.

"You're asking if it doubles as a strap-on." Rachel nodded, biting her lip. "Why, yes, it actually does. Do you want me to use it?"

"Yes."

"I believe I taught you how to beg."

"Santana, please f-fuck me with -"

"With what?"

"With your j-jelly di-di..." She can't say it.

"Oh, Rachel. It's a dildo."

"Di-" This time, Santana puts a finger on her bottom lip.

"What if I just took it and shoved it down your throat?" Rachel gasped. "In the harness or not, I don't care. I could give you a crash course in sucking cock." Santana felt her squirm, felt her smooth stomach bump against the insides of her thighs. _Much better sex._ "I should. I bet you would like that. I bet your throat can take a lot of abuse before you have to stop singing."

"San!"

"You're right; people would notice if you gave up all your solos. Spoiled brat. I'll cut you a deal: I won't bruise your esophagus if you let me take a video of your face while I fuck you with your favorite pink jelly penis."

"A video of my face?"

"Do you want your solos or not?"

"Yes."

"So that's a yes, then, isn't it?" Rachel shakes as she agrees to it. Santana gets up to get the camera and the toys. She flings them on her pillow then bends over to kiss Rachel. Everything about Rachel invites her in; it's so different from at the beginning when she was so haughty, and Santana wanted to tear her down. She still wants to tear her down; she wants to break Rachel and stub her into the ground. She can't though; Rachel is too delicate. Her warm skin, her soft lips, the way she trembled, the way her voice shook, the way she wanted to be forced, the way she begged to be forced; all of it is so addicting. It's different than being the dominant one with boys; this is complete control. She loves it.

Santana knots one of Rachel's nipples in her fingers, and Rachel squeaks because she's pulled it too hard.

"You like being mistreated, don't you?"

"Yes!"

She tugs it again, biting the soft curve of Rachel's other breast. Sometimes she leaves marks just so Rachel can remember her conquests until she sees Santana gain. Other times, she leaves them so that she can remember that Rachel is _hers_. No one else will ever own her like this; Rachel would be far too scared to open up – Santana is sure of it. If Rachel wants this itch scratched, there's only one place she can go.

She slides two fingers into Rachel, but only to see if she's wet enough – yes. She buckles the harness on, leering over the tan Jewess. She slides a condom on it, too, because it's easier than cleaning the damn thing.

"Turn over and kneel, face down." Rachel obeys quickly and neatly. _Too neatly,_ Santana decides, _which probably means she isn't unhinged enough._ She thrusts into Rachel, but whatever noise comes out of her mouth is muffled by the pillow. _This is actually harder than it looks. I should give boys more credit._ Santana yanks Rachel's head up by her hair. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that. What did you say? Were you asking for more?"

"Please... More please..."

Santana can't let herself go, not completely. That's the thing about being a thorough Domme: you have to be in control at all times. Well, she might let herself go once she's gotten used to this, but that will take weeks. The idea of doing this again and again is so tangible, Santana can taste it. She pushes Rachel's cheek into her pillow.

"I don't want to see your fucking face," she hisses. Rachel whimpers – _How many times will I hear that sound? I never get tired of it_ – and Santana presses into her again. She picks up the camera, aims at Rachel's head, and hits Record.

"Say hello, Berry."

"H-hello – oh!" _Hell yeah! That was a great shot of her face!_

"Do you like being fucked, Rachel?"

"Yes." If Santana didn't know better, she'd think Rachel sounded miserable. Can't she even be happy when she's a few minutes away from an orgasm? It isn't like Santana isn't doing her the biggest favor ever or anything. _I don't have to put up with this._

"Then say so."

"I like being fucked."

"By whom?"

"By S-santana Lopez."

"That's what I fucking thought."

At school, it's like nothing can touch her. Nothing can make her mad because she's done something no one else has. It doesn't matter if they do it later, either, because Rachel will never forget who was there first and exactly how they did it. She notices how Rachel keeps staring at her, and people say she's scared since Santana kicked the crap out of her or something, but Santana knows the real reason. The line between the bedroom and the real world is thinning. Their days are numbered.

It's a bit of a confidence boost that Rachel is a bit obsessed with her. _Maybe I do make a good lesbian,_ she thinks on Thursday. She pays attention during Rachel's solo, imagining what the pixie's voice would sound like if Santana had ravaged her throat on Sunday instead. They're supposed to meet next Monday; in fact Rachel had all their meeting dates for the next month planned out.

She's raking her teeth down Rachel's sternum on Monday when Rachel speaks up.

"Are you in love with Brittany?"

Santana almost bites her in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"I know I'm not supposed to talk; I just wanted to ask you while I could."

"What the fuck makes you think it's okay to ask me that?" Oh, god, there's too much panic in her voice.

"I think I have a right to know." Rachel's wide-eyed and nervous, but she doesn't look like she's going to back down. "We're sleeping together after all."

"Get out."

She looks like someone threw water in her face. "What?"

"Go the fuck home."


	5. Chapter 5

The Game of Consent

Rachel doesn't go back to Santana's for two weeks. Every time she sees the Latina, the same thoughts run through her head: _Santana is in love with Brittany. Santana is in love with BRITTANY. Brittany, not me._ She thought about Santana's dark hair that she'd touched maybe once or twice; her sultry voice that said things as sharp as knives and as cold as ice; her taut, warm skin that Rachel loved to touch.

The first week she decides not to go to Santana's, she feels sick. She lies on her bed, curled up around her pillow. She cries. She wonders why she likes being hurt. Why does she always pick people who care more about themselves than her? She's tried to put them before her, to take their wants into consideration. Her dads always say that at her age, people should put themselves first. That's the way she was living, but all it did was make people hate her. She tried to put Finn first, but he just broke her heart. Santana was the middle: she put Santana's needs first, but she made sure she got what she wanted; she refused to lose focus of what was important. And Santana doesn't even like her. Was she doing it wrong? Why did she even let herself crush on Santana in the first place? It certainly wasn't like that when they started out.

She picks up her bedazzled journal and writes out her feelings. Writing helps her think, and at the end of it, she figures that she might have fallen for Santana because she didn't need to ask Rachel what she wanted; she just knew. Who wouldn't want that? She tries to write a song, but everything is either too specific or poor songwriting. When she finally gets lyrics she can work with, the music won't come to her. It doesn't matter too much since she isn't going to perform it anytime soon. Or ever. Still, it would be nice if she could get it out of her head. She can't even think of what to sing without worrying that people will figure out what's going on between her and Santana.

The second week, she finally finishes the music. She's been humming it in the shower, between classes, everywhere. She can't stop thinking about Santana. She catches Santana looking at her a few times, but she can't play it cool. She looks away, blushing, as soon as her eyes meet the other girl's.

When she goes back on the third week, she's stressed out. She has two projects due in two weeks, and her teammates have left her all the work. Sectionals are next week, and she doesn't know if she's practiced enough, but she's scared of losing her voice. Finn's giving her the eyes again, and she's not entirely sure she's over him. She comes back because she wants not to take charge; she wants to just lie back and let it happen. She comes back so that she can tell herself she _can't_ be with Finn since it would hurt him. She comes back because she misses Santana.

She's nervous as Santana leads her up to her room. Her parents are on a date or at work or something; Rachel hasn't asked about them since the first few weeks because there's always something. They're never home when Santana needs them gone.

Santana closes the door and turns around slowly.

"You didn't come back," she says. Rachel's heart flutters.

"I'm sorry." She casts her eyes towards her hands, which were nervously wringing themselves around each other.

"Why? It's what you wanted, right?" Santana's words are slow and deliberate. She practiced them, Rachel is sure.

"I didn't think you wanted me to come back." This is the part, isn't it? The part when Santana's supposed to say something sappy that shows Rachel how she really does care about her. It isn't going to happen like that; Santana's too good at the game they played. That's what she thinks until Santana caresses her cheek.

"Liar. You're so rebellious. You wanted to make me miss you." She smiles. "You wanted to make me want you, Berry, and you knew that I don't like it when I can't have what I want." She pushes her hand over Rachel's cheek and into her hair, then she curls it into a fist. She yanks Rachel's face just inches from hers. "Rachel, I _wanted_ you here, and you _weren't_. You had to know you'd be punished."

"I did," Rachel answers steadily.

That's when Santana kisses her. It's far from gentle; Santana bites Rachel's lips and squeezes her too tightly to be comfortable, but _oh, God,_ Rachel missed this. Santana nearly rips Rachel's clothes off. She pushes Rachel onto the bed, then leans over her, to mark Rachel's neck with her teeth.

"That hurts," Rachel pules. Santana ignores her except to slip her hand up Rachel's stomach and to her breast. Santana tweaks her nipple, roughly manipulating Rachel's soft spots. She doesn't stop when she unclamps her mouth.

"You're not allowed to cover that up. I want everyone to see what a whore you can be. I want to watch you writhe as you try to think of a lie to tell them." Santana's breathe is warm against her skin. Rachel can feel the sore spot on her neck throb, and she wonders how dark it would be. "Oh, Berry. You want to be punished, don't you?" Her hand is inching down Rachel's stomach.

"Yes," she begs in a high voice. "Yes, please."

"I'm not going to hurt you." She hesitates. "Well, just a little. But here's the real punishment: I don't want you to cum."

"What?" Rachel squirms.

"You heard me. You're not allowed to orgasm until I say so. Can you do that for me?" There's a mean spark in her eyes.

"I don't understand." How could you be forbidden from something that just happens?

Santana smirks. "You will."

She gets it when Santana's head is buried between her legs. Santana's nails burrow into her legs, and Rachel is gasping for more, but she can't cum. She can't bring herself to it. She does the only thing she can think to do: She appeals to Santana.

"Please let me cum, San, please," she chokes out.

Santana replaces her mouth with her hands. "Do you think you deserve it?" she asks.

"No, I don't. Please, San, please. I want it so much..." Her hands are digging into the pillow so tensely it hurts.

"Have you ever even been able to make yourself cum, Berry?" Her face hovers over Rachel's.

"Once... or twice..." Her voice is too high. She can feel Santana inside her, and it's almost like her brain is too big for her body.

"Why? What were you doing that made it so great, just those times?" Santana licks her lips, and Rachel's hips buck up. She can't get enough of her.

"I – I thought about you!" She stares into Santana's eyes, wordlessly pleading with her.

"That's what I thought." Santana settles onto Rachel, leaving her mouth next to Rachel's ear. "It's all just me, isn't it?" She rubs Rachel just right, and Rachel whimpers.

"Yes."

"Rachel, I will see you next Saturday. In the next ten days that I won't _touch_ you, I want you to touch yourself every day." Rachel loves it when Santana orders her around, but when she's like this, when she's two seconds away from an orgasm she can't have, it's too much. "And you're not allowed to cum. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes I do, please just let me -"

"If you break this promise, it will be the worst regret of your life."

"I promise!" she squeaks.

"Then cum."

She does, and it shuttles through her body at full speed. She feels like her muscles have been shattered, and Santana just gives her a little smile. Rachel edges her hands over Santana's face. She leans up to kiss the Domme, and this time it _is_ gentle; it _is_ giving. Then Rachel pulls back. Then she waits. Their mouths are just a centimeter from each other, and they're both panting, but Santana doesn't move to kiss Rachel again. There's a split second when she twitches, and it looks like she might do it, but instead she slides off Rachel and tells her to get dressed.

She's far from disappointed. Now she knows there's hope.

She has to keep telling herself that on Wednesday because everyone stares at the giant bruise on her neck. Of course Santana is the one to point it out.

"Did someone hit you with a crowbar, Verna Arvey? In the _neck?_" It opens a floodgate of comments from the rest of the Glee club.

"It looks like someone tried to eat you," Mercedes says.

"Were you attacked by a vampire?" Brittany asks.

"Looks like someone got a little territorial," Quinn comments.

"Wow, Rachel." That's Artie, staring wide-eyed. He gets a front row seat.

"Congratulations on the sex, Princess," Puck tells her, extending his hand for a high-five.

"Guys, it's her business," Sam says. "Just leave it alone."

"Why?" Finn demands. "Are you the one that gave it to her?"

Santana actually laughs, just as Sam and Rachel deny it.

Mercedes asks about it in private, and Rachel confesses that she hooked up with someone, but she doesn't want to say who.

"Was it good?" the diva asks.

"Yeah." She looks around. "I'm hoping it will turn into a thing. I just... I wanted to do things differently this time."

"Good for you. I hope it works out." Mercedes tosses her a smile before rushing to class.

Too bad Rachel would never be able to tell her the truth.


	6. Chapter 6

The Game of Consent

It's winter break, and Santana gets the go-ahead from Rachel as a Christmas present.

"I didn't think you'd want me giving you a physical gift because you wouldn't want the hassle of explaining it to everyone else," Rachel says.

"And you don't expect anything in return, or are you going to tell me what you want me to get you?" Santana asks.

"Just... Don't let it be disappointing, San, please." She bites her lip, and Santana can see that no matter how much experience she gets, she's always going to be nervous about firsts.

_Not just firsts: seconds and thirds and even fourths... until she has proof that she _is_ good._ Santana leans in to whisper. "Don't worry; I'll make sure it's one of the best nights of your life."

She spends an hour brainstorming and scribbling in her special "Rachel binder" before she finally calls Puck.

"Puckerman, I have a proposition for you." Those words are practically ceremonial by now.

"This is a hook-up, isn't it?" He sounds tired. There was a football team party last night – it was fun, but Santana didn't drink, and she left early to be at her best for Rachel that afternoon.

"Better."

"Better than a hook-up? Does that mean no date?" She could practically hear his smirk.

"Oh, there's a date. There's also twice the fun." She licked her lips as she waited for him to get it. This was going to be great.

"Twice the – a three-way?"

"Yup. And the other girl is _not_ Brittany." The promise of sex was enough to keep Puck quiet about who the other girl was, but would that promise still hold after the fact?

"Not Brittany? Well, that makes sense, since I wouldn't juke on my boy Artie's girl. But who?"

"Can't tell you, Puck, not yet." She picked up her binder. "There's a price to pay, and it isn't just the date – which, by the way, we're not dining and dashing."

"It's not jewelry, is it?" Santana convinced Puck to buy her a lot of jewelry in her time. She's his go-to girlfriend, the one he goes to when he needs a date or a fuck and can't be bothered to put in the effort. Consequentially, they know each other very, very well, inside _and_ out. She's more than matched that bodily knowledge with Rachel, but Rachel brings out something adventurous in her.

"It's secrecy, absolute secrecy. My girl won't come out to play unless you swear not to disclose any details to anyone." Part of her wishes Rachel could take care of this. She's just as good at getting stuff from Puck, and she knows what she wants. She knows what Santana wants. Santana would have enjoyed watching Rachel's discomfort as she negotiated with Puck. Unfortunately, that would almost defeat the purpose of swearing him to secrecy. No, she has to be the one to do this.

"But what if I don't want to sleep with whomever it is?" He's haggling for some info. "I've slept with a lot of girls at McKinley, and some of those lays are episodes I'd rather not repeat."

She decides to throw him a bone; it's not like he would ever expect Rachel to do something like this. "You haven't slept with her, and you're friends with her."

"That lowers the possibilities by a lot."

"Trust me on this, Puckerman, this will be a night that haunts your dick for years, itching for more." She tosses him a smile, the same smile that always lets him know when something delicious is coming up. Rachel definitely falls under that category.

"And you can guarantee that?" That's the voice he used when he tilted his eyebrow. _Oh yeah, he's gonna do this._

"Puck, sweetie, I will personally ensure a night of surprise, delight, wonder, and orgasms. If you don't get it, I'll pay you back for dinner and campaign for you to get a solo at Regionals."

"I'm down. When and where?" She and Rachel planned nearly everything. Santana tried not to put in too much effort since she was going to be the one negotiating and all, but she can't help but remember that this is going to be an actual date. She is going on an actual date with Rachel Berry.

"Next Thursday, you will pick us up from my house. From there, you'll take the two of us out to Burgundy's for Italian, and afterwards, we'll come back to my place to finish off the evening." Burgundy's Italian Grille is a high-quality restaurant in Lima. It isn't quite fancy, but it's more expensive than Olive Garden, and they're far less likely to run into anyone they know going there.

"Is this the kind of hook-up where I get to stay over, or do I have to leave?" Rachel's going to spend the night, and she suggested that Puck leave. Santana can't let that happen, though, because as self-centered as Puck is, he isn't stupid. He could easily figure out there's more to it. Santana can't let there be more to this; she just can't.

"Stay if you want, Puckerman." He'll stay; she just knows it.

"What can I expect? Girl-on-girl action? There's going to be girl-on-girl action, right?" _Dickhead._

"Of course there is." She opens up her binder and starts listing possibilities. She hopes he's speechless by the end of it, but Puck always has something to say.

"Oh Adonai, who _is_ this mystery girl?"

"You'll find out on Thursday."

Thursday morning, Rachel calls her, freaking out. Santana hoped it was for phone sex, but it turns out that Rachel has no idea what to wear.

"Do I try to wear something really sexy? Because I've seen your version of sexy, San, and I don't think I can pull it off."

Santana sighed. "Wear something a little classy, okay? We're going to Burgundy's. Just dress for that. I'll look it over when you get here. Puck knows what to wear; don't worry."

Rachel comes over in a cardigan, knee-high socks, and a plaid skirt. Santana drags the pixie up to her closet because there is no way she's going on a date with someone who's wearing a _cardigan_. At least the bra and panties (matching red) are things she can work with. She slides sheer, cream-colored stockings (with garters and bows) up Rachel's thighs, slowly working the clips onto her underwear and the stocking bands. She gives Rachel a black, pleated skirt and a red sweater to go over her white camisole. Rachel gets to keep her flats since Santana isn't the same shoe size.

"You're not dressed yet," Rachel notes.

"Watch and learn." Santana goes for a stretchy, bell-sleeved white shirt to go over her own white camisole. She pulls on a navy blue high-waist pencil skirt that buttons over her belly, then tops it off with white toe peep pumps.

"You look gorgeous," Rachel whispers. "I can't even dress right."

"Your wardrobe could use a bit of a makeover, but you definitely have potential to be the sexy librarian. You have class, Rachel; you just don't know how to use it." It's the purest compliment she's given Rachel since they started this whole thing, and she means every word of it. Santana can play at elegance, but it's always tinted by that wicked look that tickles her eyes and plays around her mouth. Rachel doesn't have that. Rachel was already more refined than anyone else at McKinley; all she had to do was learn to work it.

Rachel's make-up still works with her new outfit since she does the bare minimum, so she watches Santana do hers. They have ten minutes until Puck's supposed to show up, so she leads Rachel downstairs.

"San?" Rachel whispers, taking Santana's hand. "I'm nervous."

This is the part when Santana is supposed to tell Rachel to just obey her every word like she always does. She can't say it, though, not this time. She just tilts her head and says "You'll do fine, Rachel." _I'll be there with you._

Rachel kisses her. She lets it be soft. She lets Rachel take out her romantic fantasies on her because hasn't Santana been taking out her sexual ones on Rachel for months now? She doesn't know if Rachel is doing this because Santana's there or if she tricked herself into thinking she actually likes Santana, but Santana would like to believe that someone could, even for a few seconds.

The doorbell rings, and the belief ends. Rachel stares after Santana as she heads towards the door, but Santana can't stop herself from moving. She doesn't know why.

"Hey, San."

"Puckerman."

"Who's the mysterious third party?"

"Come in and see."

His jaw drops when he sees Rachel. "Princess?"

Rachel blushes.

"Save the questions for dinner, Puckerman; we all know you weren't expecting this." She picks up her purse. "I'm ready to go."

"Tonight is going to be amazing," Puck announces.

Rachel looks at the pair of them with hungry eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

The Game of Consent

At Burgundy's, Rachel and Santana sit across from Noah. Santana's hand is rubbing her knee, and it either the only thing keeping her calm or the only thing keeping her excited. Santana acts like nothing is out of the ordinary, but Puck noticed it ages ago. Rachel saw him lick his lips, and he keeps looking back at Santana's elbow.

"How exactly did this happen?" Puck asks her. "Sex with Santana is practically a given, and sex with you I might have pictured in a few months if I put effort into it. Sex with you both? Never in a million years."

"Santana and I have –" she throws a glance at the smiling brunette "– had an agreement since last year." She's trying to take a little charge. Puck isn't going to come close to what Santana has done, so there's no need to be nervous, right? But Rachel can't help but wonder if subbing is the only way she can enjoy sex. She hopes not – life would be much easier if she had different sexual interests.

"So all this time, you and her have been dykin' it up?" Rachel cringes at the heterosexist term.

"Don't use that slur," Santana commands him. "Look, everything we say, everything we do – none of it leaves your mouth ever." As much as Santana tortures Rachel with the humiliation of revealing their little bed secrets, she doesn't want it to get out any more than Rachel does. The difference is that Santana's feared much more than Rachel.

"Oh, there's no way I'm backing out of this. So," he turns to Santana, "were you the one that tried to decapitate her with your mouth a while back?" Rachel reddens, remembering the giant hickey Santana gave her. That was a good week and a half of taunts, most of which were from Santana.

"I'm surprised you couldn't spot my handiwork." Rachel isn't sure if Santana's disappointed or amused. She hasn't seen Santana and Puck's relationship in action before, but it's an odd mixture of comradery and contempt.

"I definitely expect to see some of that handiwork later." Rachel's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and Santana squeezes her thigh.

When they get to Santana's house, she leads them up to her room right away. Rachel hoped she would hold her hand, but that would be too much affection in one night. They didn't want Noah to think there was anything romantic going on; he would be much less likely to spill the beans if he thought he could get in on the action again.

"Puck? Welcome out our ménage à trois." Santana should speak French more. Maybe it's just what the phrase means, but there's something delightfully nasty in the way Santana speaks it. Rachel licks her lips.

"Anything I'm not allowed to do, Rachel?" Puck asks. She's glad he asked, but she and Santana must have gone over this a dozen times. Adding another person to their usual line up has really changed how they do things. Rachel isn't sure if she wants it to go back to normal or if she thinks it's changed for the better.

"Oh, please," Santana answers. "You're not going to do anything that I haven't done first." Santana was far too territorial to let someone else have an absolute first.

"You've done _everything_ we talked about?" The look on his face is somewhere between incredulous and turned on.

Santana slides a glace towards Rachel. "Do you really think Berry would go into any performance without practicing?"

"What's happening first?" Rachel asks. She's getting too wound out; she needs this whole thing to start so she can stop being anxious.

"You say you two have been going at this for a while? Prove it, Princess. I wanna watch." Rachel hears Santana's dark chuckle behind her, but then Santana's open mouth skids up Rachel's neck. It's going to leave marks, but she doesn't think they'll bruise. She doesn't think much of anything except _It's starting._

It's weird how Santana can so completely dominate Rachel even when she's being gentle. This is Santana showing off; Santana is being _artful_. She moves with a grace Rachel didn't know she had. Rachel remembers what Santana told her. Santana and Rachel as a pairing fulfills one of Puck's favorite fantasies: the turning of a classy, innocent girl into an adventurous, enthusiastic bed-mate. It isn't an uncommon one; Rachel did some research to find that it was, in fact, the most prevailing and cliched erotica story of Victorian times. This was just going to show Noah that not only was that fantasy possible, but he was going to be a part of it.

"Add in two girls," Santana told her, "and you have a tale Puckerman will probably relive again and again."

Rachel looks over at Noah as Santana lies on top of her, working her way down Rachel's neck. He's unzipping his pants. She can feel Santana's giggle vibrate through her skin, and when the Latina bites her, Rachel's midriff jerks upwards. Her eyes widen when she sees him pull out his dick because despite the fact that she's seen porn and been practicing with Santana, this is going to be the first time she's slept with a guy. Noah Puckerman is going to be the first guy she'll see naked. Santana likes making Rachel watch, but Rachel already knew that. Her wide eyes follow Noah's hand as he grabs Santana's lube off the desk, wets his dick, and starts to work it. Santana's hand snaps down between Rachel's legs, and the sound that comes out of Rachel's mouth is purely animalistic.

"Oh, god, Rachel," Noah says.

"You'd better not come any time soon, Puckerman," Santana says haughtily. "I have plans."

"I hope so." He licks his lips.

Santana moves her mouth from Rachel's breast to whisper in her ear. "You like it, don't you? Watching him? It makes you feel naughty, doesn't it? I bet you want to suck his cock." Rachel rolls her hips up again. She does, and everyone in the room knows it. "You want him to watch me fuck you. You want him to fuck you, too. Oh, Rachel Berry, you're so fucking _bad_ now, aren't you? And you're just going to go back to school in January and act like you aren't a secret slut."

"Mmm – San – ah, Noah –"

"Someone _please_ fucking take care of this," Noah pleads.

Santana pushes Rachel off the bed. "Go." She sounds excited. Rachel looks back at her, and she's licking the fingers that were just inside Rachel.

Rachel stumbles over to Noah, where she kneels, legs splayed on either side. He puts one hand on the back of her head and holds his shaft steady. He moans as Rachel curls her tongue over the tip. He pushes the back of her head gently.

"Go on, take it in, Princess," he coaxes. Very suddenly, she slides forward, letting the length of him slide down her throat. There was a reason Santana had her practice. "Oh, fuck!" Santana outright laughs. She walks over by the desk to get a better view.

"Don't cum in her mouth, Puck. Aim for her tits."

"You're the boss." If anyone can dominate Noah, it's Santana.

Giving head is different than sucking off Santana's toy. Her toy is undoubtedly longer and thicker, and the method is the same, but Puck's skin tastes different underneath the lube. The texture is different, the smell – well, some of that comes down to the differences between Noah and Santana. As familiar as Santana is, Rachel likes giving a real blow job better than being dominated into a mouth-fucking a pseudo-dick.

Then Puck yanks her head back, and she ends up with cum coating her chest. Santana kisses Rachel's cheek and kisses her throat. She slurps a blob of cum off Rachel's throat. Legs bent, Rachel lies on the floor, watching Santana's bare breasts dangle over her while she licks Rachel clean. Rachel kisses her sternum, but she drops back to the ground when Santana slips down to place her head firmly between Rachel's legs.

"No, San -"

"What?" Santana actually sounds offended.

"I think we should, you know, actually get to the _three_ in threesome."

She only pauses for a second. "Fine. But Rachel's in the middle."

_Middle?_ They tell her to lie on the bed, and Puck slaps a condom on before hitching Rachel's hips up and gliding into her. This is different than with Santana and her toy, too. Puck's hands are large and strong on her legs, and his thrusts are more decisive. It took a bit for Santana's dildo to warm up, but Puck is already warm, and with all the motion, the temperature's going up. Santana waits until Puck and Rachel have a rhythm going, then she eases herself to kneel over Rachel's face. She puts her hands up against the wall and leans forward to give Rachel better access.

Rachel pulls her tongue up Santana's slit, going until she hits her clit. She remembers the tips the Domme gave her the first time Rachel returned. _Write your ABC's, Berry._ She doesn't this time.

S-A-N-T-A-N-A B-I-A-N-C-A P-A-Z L-O-P-E-Z

Rachel slides her fingers in.

R-A-C-H-E-L B-A-R-B-R-A B-E-R-R-Y

That's when Santana came.


	8. Chapter 8

The Game of Consent

Puck is sprawled across Santana's divan with an extra blanket over him. He's already asleep. Santana faces the door with Rachel spooning her. She wants to sleep, but she can hear Rachel breathing in her ear. Rachel, as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, is not asleep. This is why Santana hates cuddling. She usually keeps a no-snuggles policy, and the only exception was Brittany. Now Rachel's been added for two reasons: Santana wants to keep up appearances, and she wishes someone would have cuddled with her the first time she had sex with a guy.

"San?" Rachel whispers, and for a second Santana forgets it's not Brittany.

"What?" she answers crossly. She's not mad at Rachel; she's angry with herself from blurring the lines between Rachel and Brittany. It isn't fair to Rachel. As much as she pretends otherwise, there are lines Santana doesn't cross, and deliberately leading someone as desperate for (and, admittedly, deserving of) love as Rachel is one of those lines.

"What is this going to do to us?"

"There is no us," Santana snaps.

"You know what I mean! Our... dynamic. You've been treating me differently since we decided to bring Noah in. At first I thought it was because I was giving you something you really wanted, but I started thinking..." Rachel holds her breath, and Santana almost follows suit. "I started thinking maybe you were afraid of losing me."

"Losing you? Please. Like you'd refuse to come back. You can't stay away for too long, Rachel." She snorts. "Like Puck could ever get into something as fucked up as this."

"So this is wrong?" Rachel whispers. "Liking... liking pain and h-humiliation or, you know, doing it to people?"

"I thought you already knew that."

"Well you and I don't exactly see eye to eye on what's right and what isn't. You're okay with a lot of things I'm not." Rachel pulls Santana closer to her. "So it really is messed up, then? If you say it is? It must be really bad, then."

"It's not about what's right and wrong, Berry. It's about what feels right and wrong for you." Rachel starts to shake, so Santana rolls over to face her. There are tears in the pixie's eyes.

"Santana, this feels wrong; this feels so wrong." She buries her head into Santana's chest to muffle the sound of her cries. Puckerman snores on the couch.

"Why? No one else fucking cares, right?" Santana was never one to hide her business until Brittany and Rachel came along. She often hid others' secrets in exchange for favors or simply for the pleasure of calling herself superior, but once she realized she was a lesbian, she found out just how those other people felt. She looked at everything she knew lesbians to be and everything that people saw them to be, but when she looks in the mirror, she sees something else completely. Now she doesn't know which image she dislikes more.

"But they would! They would if they knew!" Rachel can be so goddamned frustrating sometimes. If Rachel didn't care, Santana could forget about it. Rachel didn't care before, but letting someone into the secret changed that. She wishes she hadn't brought Puckerman into this. She just wanted to own Rachel so _completely_, she wanted to explore every part of the pixie's body. When Rachel sees herself, Santana wanted her to see all the things that were done to her. No part of her could go untouched, no possibility left untried. She's paying for it now.

"Why should other people get to know about our sex lives? It's none of their goddamned business!" Santana hisses. She hates other people right now. She hates society right now. She hates it for warping her like this; she hates it for wrapping Rachel around its fucking pinky. She hates it for having expectations she doesn't want or understand.

"We're not even together!" _Fuck. Me._ This was one of the few things Santana couldn't give her.

"So what?" _Can we please just go back to the way we were?_

"I want to be." _You mean you want me to be something I'm not._

"Goddamn it," Santana mutters. "You know I'm in love with Brittany."

"Still? That was a while ago." She sounds hopeful. She's being ignorant.

"You spent half of last year trailing after Finn; you have no room to talk." She set her mouth in a frown. "You watched Quinn and Finn's troubles because he still had feelings for you. Do you really want that?" That shit was annoying to watch, but it must have been horrible to live. Not that Santana cared, right up until she started fucking Rachel.

"I know you better than anyone else." She wishes. Rachel's smart, but Santana made the rules for a reason. They're two different sides of the same coin, and Santana doubts Rachel would be able to understand the thinking opposite hers.

"Better than Brittany? Than my best friend who's stuck with me since middle school? We only met two years ago." Maybe if she presents her side well enough, Rachel will be content to have things they way they were. She can't stand losing it; she already lost it once before, and those were the loneliest three weeks of her life until Rachel walked through her doors again.

"I know you in a way she doesn't." She can see that glimmer of hope in Rachel's eyes, and she has to crush it. She just has to because she can't hurt Rachel by leading her on. She hates herself because she liked the idea that Rachel could love her. She wanted this poor, innocent star to fall down to the dirty, muddy Earth.

"As if she can't learn."

"You'd never be able to do this stuff with her. She's too fragile; you'd be afraid of breaking her." Rachel's right there. Maybe Berry _has_ picked up some stuff on Santana, but that doesn't change anything. This would never work. She has to tell her the truth.

Their brown eyes met. "I don't want to do this stuff with her, Rachel."

That shut her up for a bit. "So she makes you a better person?"

"Yeah." Santana nods. As dumb as it sounds, Brittany is Santana's only redeeming trait. She's the only one who's ever believed in Santana, and she's the only one who's ever made Santana take care for other people.

"And I make you worse."

_No. I'm already fucked up._ "In all the right ways, Man-Hands." She watches Rachel's face fall. Rachel rolls over to look away from the door, and this time Santana's the big spoon. "No one can be perfect, Rachel. If you flaunt your imperfections, no one can bring you down for it." She doesn't exactly practice what she preaches, but that wasn't something Rachel would pick up on. She would just hear the same "own-it" philosophy she embeds in herself every time she looks in the mirror.

"You act like you don't have any. There has to be something you're ashamed of – besides me, of course."

_I'm not ashamed of you._ She couldn't say that, though. Instead, she decided to trust Rachel."If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course not."

"Really swear? Because if you let anything slip to anyone, we're absolutely through."

"I won't tell, San."

"I only fall in love with girls."

"So... all those guys... you didn't feel anything for them?"

"Guys come and go, right? But Brittany and I are best friends. I just... Best friends are forever."

"I guess that makes sense."

When they go back to school, Rachel and Puck are closer. Santana expected that. She didn't care about while she was planning this whole thing out because she's absolutely confident that it wouldn't matter. Rachel would still be hers, and Puckerman knows better than to step where Santana's marked her territory – he figured that out the one time he slept with Brittany during freshman year. He was scared to so much as look at his dick for a week. The problem isn't that they're closer, since it's funny to watch Finn freak out about it. Santana's jealous. She almost misses it since she's so used to being jealous of Artie, no matter how many breaks he and Brittany take. There it is, though: the tightening in her throat, the way her stomach drops, the way she feels a headache coming on.

She wanted to be closer with Rachel, too.


	9. Chapter 9

The Game of Consent

Rachel asks Noah to perform a duet with her. Not one of those small, "play the guitar and sing with me" duets, one of their Thursday duets in the auditorium. She wants to do an actual show.

"Is this to make Rachel jealous?" he asks. "Because she will rip my balls off with the razors in her hair."

"This is for me," she says. "Can I be honest? One hot Jew to another?" He nods. "I like her a lot. But I need to know that I can stand with someone else. I need her to know that, too."

"You don't think she respects you?" Noah asks.

"If I do it by myself, it's just me grabbing for attention again."

"Rach... This doesn't sound like you. Are you sure you wanna be with her?" He puts his arm around her shoulders. "You're strong, and you're amazing. Being with San – anyone – is supposed to make you better, right?"

"She makes me question everything, Noah. And... I think it's a good thing. Because I _am_ attention-grabbing. It's what I do whenever I feel threatened. I wouldn't do that if I felt as confident as I sound. I don't need to change, not right now, but I need to grow up a little. And I need to learn how to take criticism – not just ignore it or be broken by it. So yeah, I think she'll make me better. But it's not just about that. I _want_ to be with her. Even when she's mean, even when she hurts me, I know I have her full attention. She plays games," Rachel explains, "but she knows the consequences of her actions. She thinks before she speaks or before she does something."

"Is this about Finn being a dick last year? 'Cause I can beat him up if you want." She giggles, and he smiles. "But seriously: You can talk to me if you need it. I know San, and I know she wouldn't physically hurt you, but she's a whirlwind."

"Do you think we should do a song about her?" Rachel asks.

"No, let's just do something kick-ass."

"Can't it be kick-ass _and_ about her?"

He smiles. "Let's see what we can do."

What they can do, it turns out, is "Modern Swinger" by The Pink Spiders. It's definitely more Noah's style than her own, but she enjoys punking out with spray-in red streaks, skinny jeans, and one of his band T-shirts. They split the lyrics in half, Noah singing the first half, Rachel singing the second (as if they're about herself). It's an energetic number that has them jumping and dancing all over the place. She teaches him to tango during practice, and he takes the eight-step dance easily.

The weird part is, he doesn't make a move the entire week. He doesn't kiss her, he doesn't look at her longingly, he doesn't act like anything has changed, and at the same time, it's obvious that they're better friends. He walks the line between the bedroom and real life so easily. He probably learned from Santana. So she finally asks.

"How did you and Santana start up?"

Noah doesn't look too surprised. "We lost our virginity to each other. It was winter break freshman year. We'd known each other since sixth grade, and we dated before that. We knew we could go to each other when there wasn't anybody else, and that time... we didn't stop. We dated for a while after that, but nothing really changed between us. Of course, that summer, I started my pool-cleaning business, and that's when I started learning from the cougars..."

"Don't ever clean my pool."

"I swear I'm not after your dads." He laughs.

Then it's Thursday. They sing, and during the chorus, Rachel sneaks glances at Santana. She's sitting in the back, even behind Brittany, and she catches a few smiles. She's supposed to be with Santana on Saturday, and she hopes that they can talk. She hopes that Santana uses a gag.

Finn's parked next to her, and he's waiting by her door when she goes to leave. He has a concerned look on his face. _He hasn't put two and two together, has he? No, there's no way he thinks I'm sleeping with Santana. This is the guy that thought his heart was on the right side of his chest._

"Hey, Rachel? Are you dating Puck?"

"Not that it's any of your business who I do and don't date, Finn, but no, Noah and I are not together." She zips open her purse to get her keys.

"You two have gotten really close lately... You know what he wants, right?" He sounds concerned, but his words are condescending. _I don't need someone else to take care of me._

"My friendship." She smiles up at him and opens her car door.

"Don't be stupid, Rachel. He's after sex." Finn crosses his arms uncomfortably. She wasn't going to do this, but she's fed up with his crap. She's tired of him being confused and bumbling through life without thinking it through. She's tired of him hurting people with his carelessness.

"Why would he be after sex when we've already had it?" She buckles up and stares at him through her rear-view mirror as she drives away. She didn't even get to second base with him. She wants to laugh at him, but he looks so downtrodden. She feels bad. At least she knows Santana will laugh at it once she hears the rumors.

She isn't prepared for the next day. In fact, she isn't prepared for that _night_ when Mercedes calls her.

"Oh-my-god-you-lost-your-virginity-and-you-didn't-tell-me?"

"News travels fast," she answers in a wry voice.

"But you didn't _tell_ me!" Mercedes sighs. "What was it like?" She sounds partly curious and partly dreamy.

There's a buzzing noise. "Kurt's calling on the other line. Hold on."

"You had sex with _Puck_, and you didn't even _call?_" he nearly shrieks.

"Mercedes said the same thing."

"What was it _like?_ Oh my god, you have to tell me everything," he gushes.

"Mercedes is on the other line, so let me merge them..."

"Hey, boo," Mercedes says once she hears Kurt's voice.

"Hello, darling."

"Okay, girl, so how does it feel?"

"Um... filling?" She twirls a strand of hair around her finger.

Mercedes actually chokes, and Rachel can almost hear Kurt's eyes rolling.

"No duh."

"I don't know how to describe it, really..." But they start asking questions, and she answers, so eventually she finds the words.

The next day at school is different. Mercedes and Kurt may have congratulated her, but girls roll their eyes as they walk past her, and boys stare at her. They think she's easy now. Tina gives her a high five. Santana doesn't care, or she would have called Rachel last night. She's not a prude anymore, and at least she's not a slut, but people are still judging her. She hopes this doesn't make it back to her dads at temple on Saturday.

They don't, and instead Rachel walked up to Santana's room kneading her hands into her legs.

"Something on your mind?"

"Will you go on a date with me?" She has to blurt it out before she changes her mind.

"Why would you want to go on a date with me?"

"Because I like you."

"No, you don't." She gave a halfhearted laugh and turned around. "I'm so fucked up, Rachel. I like girls, I like to _hurt_ you... I'm a bitch, and I've bullied you. I've said horrible things – things that I expected you to believe. I've tried to tear you down so many times, and I haven't built you up once. Not once. I haven't even wanted to." There were tears in her eyes. "Who would want that?"

"Me. And I don't appreciate you insulting my taste in women."

"Everyone always wants someone else. Finn used me to get over you. Sam dated me to keep Quinn away. Brittany wanted to stay with Artie. Dave is... Well. But I'm tired of coming in second, Rachel. I can't stand it."

"You're my first everything."

"You love yourself more."

"I'd be scared if I didn't. You love _your_self more. That's the way it's supposed to be, right? You don't want to be another cliched high school tragedy?"

"They're all cliched high school tragedies." Santana sniffs and wipes her eyes.

"Whaddya say? To me?"

Santana stops. Her gaze travels around the room, then back to Rachel. She kisses her.

**THE END**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So maybe it's not the end. Anymore.**

Chapter Ten

Santana decides to take her to Anderson's Indoor Gardens. To feed the ducks. This is possibly the most domestic thing she's ever done in a romantic relationship. She's nervous about it. What if she can't pull off a relationship? She's done it with boys before, but never like this and never with Rachel Berry. In bed, she learned to read Rachel's body like it was an alphabet only she knew. It took a lot of effort and a lot of research, but now she's here. She's someone's first choice. And she still doesn't know how she feels about it.

Well, Santana is pleased. That part's easy. She likes being with Rachel, but adding a layer to their relationship that hasn't existed is bound to be confusing. The problem is that Santana is also in love with someone else... she thinks. She isn't sure anymore. Rachel knows this. Santana managed for months to hide her feelings for Brittany, but now it's out in the open. Which is probably better for Santana. It's not so good for Rachel. Probably. _Rachel can make her own decisions._ They're trying the dating thing anyway, and it's nice. They're taking it slowly, which is surprisingly refreshing. It's completely different from how either Santana or Rachel has conducted their previous relationships.

They do say they're "taking it slow" which makes Santana laugh because she's fucked Rachel five ways to Sunday and back. She's done things to Rachel that would make Christian Grey blush. (Santana is of the opinion that _50 Shades of Grey_ is a total boner-killer.)

But Rachel buys her coffee on a foggy Sunday morning in January, and they hold hands and walk into Anderson's Inside Gardens. It's much warmer inside than it is outside, but they left their coats in the car, sacrificing five minutes to the Gods of Freezing Your Tits Off.

"I don't know why I'm taking you to a garden," she tells Rachel once they're inside. "You're a mouth-breather." It comes off pretty harsh, but she's not out to insult Rachel. She's just starting to doubt her choice. She hates shitty dates. She and Rachel have already had one, and not even the after-sex can erase the boredom and awkwardness of Roller Disco Night from her mind.

"You breathe through your mouth, too, Santana." She smiles and looks at the high glass ceilings, covered in snow that hasn't quite started melting yet. "We're singers."

"Mouth-breathing makes us more likely to catch an illness that could rob us of our talents."

"You don't care; you smoke cigars."

Santana leans in to whisper in Rachel's ear. "If you're not good, I'll put one out on your leg."

"But you love my legs," Rachel whimpers.

"Not as much as you do."

Rachel squeezes her hand and doesn't say anything else. Santana can see it on her face; it's the same struggle she's going through: trying to keep their sexual and romantic lives separate. Outside of the bedroom, they have completely different dynamics. They are completely different people. Flirting is good; flirting is normal. But it also opens a door that's hard to not walk through.

At the front, they bought a bag of bread crumbs, and Rachel pulls it out now. There's a bench by the man-made pond, and Santana plants her butt right on the metal plaque that's on it. (_Who put the plaque where people were gonna sit on it? Morons._) Rachel sits next to her and offers her the bag first. Santana refuses. They're at the Gardens for Rachel, not for her. Santana actually likes the Gardens; they're peaceful and yes, romantic, but she kind of hates ducks. Rachel, of course, loves them. She gets a whole crowd of the fat fuckers trying to eat out of her hands. Santana has half a mind to kidnap one and make it tomorrow's dinner. She likes dark meat.

The Gardens are mostly empty. It's not a popular destination among their age group, and it's a Sunday morning.

A duck quacked at Rachel's feet. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Last night, Santana had managed to give Rachel hickeys and bruises all over her back. It'd been a great night. She didn't actually get to go to sleep for hours because she'd been staring at Rachel's back, touching all the places she'd marked.

"Fine enough. What about you?" she asks.

"I slept great. But when I get home, I'm going to have to do my workout and practice our choreography for this Thursday."

"Do you regret sleeping over?"

"No," Rachel says quietly. She's smiling.

Santana just holds her hand.

In the car, Santana kisses Rachel's knee.

"San, you should start driving."

There's this soft dip of skin, and Santana licks it, pressing her tongue hard against the tendon underneath.

"San, please don't do this to me here."

"You don't want anyone to walk by and see you, buck naked and squirming for me?" Santana asks.

"No," Rachel pleads. "Please, let's go home and I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

"You'll beg me to do it anyway." She licks a line up Rachel's leg, and Rachel opens her legs just a little wider. She'd still have to take her skirt off for Santana to get her head between Rachel's thighs. Santana doesn't ask for that, though. Sh keeps teasing Rachel's knee with her mouth and sends a hand to do her duty instead.

Rachel squirms, and every muscle in Santana's body tenses up as she hears the soft "ah-ah-ahh" escape her girlfriend's mouth. She rubs at Rachel through her underwear, and lets her teeth only just scrape the skin on her leg.

"Santana, please..."

She slips her hand under the elastic and presses her thumb right where it needs to be. "Please what?"

Rachel whimpers.

"Please _what?_" she demands.

"I... Please fuck me."

"That's what I thought." Santana recedes. She wipes her hand off on her jeans and faces forward in her seat.

"Santana..."

"We're going home." She licks her lips. "And I want you to touch yourself during the drive."

Rachel looks stunned.

"Do it." Santana snaps her seatbelt on.

The ride back to Santana's house is slow and quiet. Rachel's cheeks get redder and redder with each pedestrian and driver they pass, though none of them would be able to tell what she's doing. Santana can't wait to get back to her room.

She listens to Rachel's breathing. It's Classic Rachel, trying to be calm but reluctantly becoming erratic as Rachel's arousal rises. Santana's mind is on what she's going to do once they're in the safety of her bedroom. She didn't try anything new last night, but she wasn't in the mood. Now she is. Her thoughts go to her binder, filled with research and brainstorms.

Right now, blindfolds sound really good. She's stayed away from them because she loves Rachel's eyes. She loves how expressive they are. But she also loves the idea of Rachel not knowing what Santana's going to do next. She can just imagine Rachel's heart rate speeding up, those delicious little sounds being pushed out of her mouth... She decides to stop imagining it because if she doesn't, she'll have to follow in Rachel's footsteps and start diddling herself in the car.

They finally pull up in front of Santana's house. Her parents are still at church. Rachel zips up her skirt, and Santana takes her hand. She sucks on Rachel's fingers, still wet and exuding the scent of her. Santana loves the way Rachel tastes, the way she smells. Sometimes she dreams about that smell.

Before Santana's even closed the door to her room, Rachel in undressing. Santana goes to her dresser and picks out a wide brown scarf.

"I'm going to blindfold you," she whispers in Rachel's ear. Rachel nods, and Santana gets to work.

Santana has Rachel undress her, and she revels in the feeling of those shaking hands crawling over her skin. She pushes Rachel onto the bed and pulls out the lube in her nightstand drawer. She slicks herself and Rachel up, then kneels over Rachel's left leg. She settles onto Rachel's hip then leans down and bites her collarbone. Rachel puts her hands on Santana's shoulders, and Santana presses her thumb into Rachel's nipple. She uses her mouth to tease Rachel's other breast, and the way Rachel's fingers dig into her skin makes Santana shiver. She doesn't forget to hurt Rachel, either; she bites and scrapes and pinches and pulls. Rachel arches her back, making her leg press against the meeting of Santana's thighs, and Santana pushes back with her own legs. Rachel pushes again, and Santana lifts herself up, still pressing back. Her hips move in circles, there's a soft rhythm to their motions.

Santana grabs the underside of Rachel's jaw, pressing as close to the joints as she can get.

"You like this, don't you?" she accuses.

"Yes."

"You like not knowing what I'm going to do."

"Yes, Santana."

"You like pretending this isn't your fault; you like the idea of blaming me." She adds more pressure, and Rachel whimpers. "It's really your fault. You beg me for this shit, don't you?"

"Y-yes, I do."

"Stop telling yourself that I do this because I want to."

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispers.

"You better be sorry. Slut. I should stop doing you any fucking favors. I bet I'd see you crawling around the streets, jumping at anyone who'd fuck you."

"Please don't stop, Santana."

"Maybe I should. You're useless."

"I can do better, I promise."

"You're horrible at taking orders. You can barely please me."

"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."

"Why should I? You can't even make it worth my while." The lube has dried out, but it doesn't matter because they're both wet enough to not need it anymore. She can feel Rachel practically dripped on her leg. She can't imagine stopping for anything.


End file.
